Fickle Fortune
by AlmightyQue
Summary: Hi, I'm Jena, and I am not an alcoholic. Not yet, anyway. I could use a drink right about now, but unfortunately, I don't drink. My likes are few, and I hate fortune cookies, my life, and cemeteries make me physically ill...
1. A Journey to a Place Far Away

A Journey to a Place Far Away

My name is Jena, and I hate fortune cookies.

I mean, I don't have anything against the taste at all; in that way, they're actually quite good. Nice and crispy, not quite as sweet as a cookie, but too sweet for crackers, they've got a kind of uniqueness about them, and there cheap, too. I used to love to stop and get them by the handful at the Chinese restaurant on my way home from the post office, where my friend had gotten me a part-time job.

Granted, stamp licking isn't one heck of a glamorous job, but it beat the shit out of being broke. And because of my flexible hours, I was able to go straight from school in the afternoons, or make-up time on weekends if Evelyn (my aunt) needed me to watch my sister and/or baby cousin during a weekday when both she and my uncle were going to be working late. Oh, and just for future reference: my sister lives with our uncle and his wife, our aunt, Evelyn.

Why? My family is… complicated. Not broken, per say, just… held together with rubber bands, paperclips, and good 'ol duct tape. Sure, some of the pieces are missing, and it's pretty worn and torn (not just around the edges) but it's my life. And somehow, it works. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah… fortune cookies.

Like I said, I used to stop by the restaurant I could never remember the name of to save my life after work, on my bike, and head to the back door where Li-Jun would be, more often than not, taking the trash out to the dumpsters behind the kitchen. I'd gotten to know Li-Jun pretty well through my late evening cookie-runs, and when she'd see me, she'd smile and her pretty face would be stretched from ear to ear with her brown eyes in slits that made her look the spiting image of her mother, the kind lady who worked the register and handed out free suckers to the younger children. She always knew exactly what I had come for, and usually we'd talk for a while until her brother would yell at her to get back to work. Sometimes she'd manage to get a break, and we would either sit out on the porch steps leading up to the front door, or she might take my inside with her and her grandpa would give us small plates with different samples of food he always made from scratch, like he used to do before the restaurant had to start buying pre-packaged "stuff" because scratch took too long, cost too much, but tasted much better.

I didn't really know Li-Jun's grandfather like I knew her, but I considered anyone who fed me at the very least a good acquaintance.

It was a night like this that I learned to hate fortune cookies forever.

I had just gotten off my shift at the post-office (small town post-office, where they trust a 15 year-old with a key, not that the trust was unearned, but you get the point) and was racing down the hill to Li-Jun's and my cheap cookies. I hadn't eaten since lunch that afternoon, because Sam (my boss who's wife always packs him too much anyway) was off his diet, and had started scarffing down all of Mrs. Sam's home cooking by himself again. I appreciated the pay-check too much to ask (more than twice) for him to share, and so I went hungry. When I pack my lunch, I can usually go with out eating Sam's (if he's being difficult), but when I am forced to eat the toxic waste they serve us in the cafeteria, I'd almost rater starve. Honestly, had I been given the choice of being stuck on the Oregon Trail with those poor starving cannibals up in the mountains, or eating the school slop, I'd take my chances with the Donner's.

I could hear my stomach growl over the wind rushing passed by ears as I nearly flew down the hill toward Li-Jun. I could see her at the bottom, heaving the garbage bags into the open dumpster, her black hair tied in red ribbons in pigtails laying gently across her shoulders. I started to push the pedals on my bike, making myself go even faster than at my previous coast. Li-Jun had tossed the last bag, and had turned just in time to see me flying straight for her at break-neck (or break-less) speed and she smiled and waved enthusiastically.

I stopped pedaling as I reached the bottom of the hill and gently squeezed the handbrakes. I was still going too fast though, as I reached Li-Jun at the restaurant. I jerked the handlebars and skidded around, braking with my foot as I swiveled around, just passed the back door and six feet or so passed Li-Jun.

"Hey," I greeted cheerily and smiled back at her. My hair was a mess, it always was, but I could only guess how much more so from the ride down the hill. I stood straddling my bike with my hand still on the bars.

Li-Jun laughed, "Nice stop, Ace."

I just grinned, too exhausted from the day to reply before her brother came out.

"Li-Jun," He said in a deeply authoritative tone, with his hands on his hips and a glare that did not suit his grease stained, once white apron. "Get back to work. We all have much to do, and I can't waste my time coming out her to get you like this."

"I was talking to my friend," She answered back simply.

And if he'd had any friends, he might have understood. But judging by the overly dramatic way he "kept his sister in line", I could have safely guessed he didn't have any.

He was about to reply to that when their grandfather suddenly appeared in the doorway.

"So you were, Li-Jun, so you were. Right then, Cho, back to work. Li-Jun and her friend are only talking. Perhaps you would like to come in, too girls? That's alright then, come on now, everyone, back inside." There was no arguing with Li-Jun's grandfather, and her brother knew it, so he settled for throwing us both dirty looks before preceding the others inside. Li-Jun's grandfather stood imperiously in the doorway, far enough away that the grumpy one could get through. I got off my bike and leaned it against the side of the building like I'd done a hundred times before, and followed my friend as she walked in through the kitchen.

"Good to see you again, Miss Tashi," He said kindly as I walked through the door.

"Good to see you too, sir," I smiled. He was one of those good kinds of old people, the few that you didn't mind hearing stories about the old days from, or whatever else they felt like talking about.

He nodded, and I walked passed him, following Li-Jun to the table in the back room between the kitchen and main dining area that had come to be known as "our table". We sat down and Mr. Yee stood at the end, hands behind his back and feet apart.

"Would you two lady's be willing to try something different to-night?" He asked.

"Sure, Grandfather," Li-Jun said.

"What is it?" I asked. Not fearfully, really, everything Li-Jun's grandfather made was delicious, but sometimes… "different" was a little _too_ different. Like the time he wrapped sushi in tortilla shells and poured cheese sauce over the top. Li-Jun liked it, but I almost felt like I was going to throw-up my Turkey sandwich from lunch.

"Oh, good recipe, one my grandmother had, very tasty."

"Sounds good to me," Li-Jun could be a little too trusting at times.

"Uhh…" I wasn't so confident. "Sure. Thanks."

"Haven't got it yet," He said as he walked back toward the kitchen. I should have been more worried, but not for the reason I had then.

"That sounded a lot like my grandpa," I said to Li-Jun.

"Grandparents," she shook her head. "They all say pretty much the same thing, don't they?"

"Yeah," I had to agree. "No matter what, the advice is the same."

"Pretty much," She smiled.

We talked a while about nothing in particular, mostly how the day went for each of us, and she told me how her brother had burnt himself on the stove making something earlier that day and their uncle (it's a family business, you see?) had really ripped into him. We both got a laugh out of that one, and it explained why he had been extra grumpy that day.

"So how was your day, Jena?" Li-Jun asked once we had both started breathing again.

"Alright, I guess," I answered unexcitedly. "It wasn't bad or anything, just… dull."

Li-Jun sighed, propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. "Pretty much like every other day, huh Hon?"

"Yeah…" I sighed too, and mimicked her elbow-prop, chin-rest without really thinking about it. "Like every other day."

"Hmm…" She closed her eyes. "You know what we need?"

"Enlighten me," I answered.

"We need a vacation," Simple as that.

"Agreed," I said. "When we can afford one, let me know."

"Or at least an adventure," she continued. She opened her eyes. "Where would you go, Ace. If you could go anywhere in the world?"

"New Zealand," I answered flatly.

"New Zealand?" She repeated, confused.

"Yeah," I said, closing my eyes.

"Okay…" She was waiting for an explanation. "Why?"

"They've got more sheep in New Zealand than people. Counting sheep. I might actually get some sleep there."

"Ah, I see." I have terrible insomnia; sleep is yet another one of those luxuries I cannot afford. I could feel Li-Jun's eyes on me, but I chose to ignore the pitying look I knew was there. I didn't need to see it.

"Ah, ha!" Mr. Yee came back with two small plates, one in each hand. He placed them in front of us (we had straightened up). Sitting on each delicate platter, there were two fortune cookies, but not the cheap ones I came for every night, these were different. Little did I know then just how different.

"OH!" Li-Jun cried. "Grandfather, thank you!"

"Thank you again, Mr. Yee." I honestly couldn't wait. I have to tell you, I'd never had home-made fortune cookies before.

"Nothing, nothing," He protested expressively. "It was nothing, Li-Jun, Jene."

He never said "Jen_a"_, it was always "Jene", but I never minded much.

"These are amazing, Jena," Li-Jun gushed. "You haven't _lived _until you've had one of these. We usually don't get them, except on birthdays."

"And special occasions," Mr. Yee amended with a smile.

"What's the occasion?" I asked, no warning flares going off yet.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," he waved it off. "Good friend of Li-Jun for almost a year now, and never have you had _real_ fortune cookie."

"A real fortune cookie, huh?" I said, not believing or taking it seriously.

"Yes, Jena," Li-Jun said seriously. "These fortunes aren't like the ones from the stores, these ones _always_ come true."

Li-Jun's grandfather nodded. "Always."

I didn't say anything. It was their belief, not mine, so I just kept quiet.

"Eat, eat, girls," Mr. Yee motioned animatedly. "Enjoy."

"You first, guest." Li-Jun smiled.

I took the first cookie off the hand-painted plate and broke it in half. I pulled the paper out of one side and stuck the other half in my mouth.

I have to say, it was good. No, better; it was the best desert I'd ever had in my life. Banana cream pie and strawberry cheesecake where put to shame. It wasn't that it was especially… I don't know how to describe it, it was almost magical.

That should have been a big clue if nothing else was. But I'm just too dense for stuff like that.

"Well, read it," Li-Jun said.

I looked down and read aloud, "'You will receive an unexpected gift from an acquaintance.' That doesn't sound so bad."

Mr. Yee nodded.

"Alright, my turn," Li-Jun opened hers and then we opened the last one together. "'You are going to receive an unforeseen phone call.' Okay then."

"Jene?" Mr. Yee waited patiently.

"'You will take a journey to a place far away.' New Zealand?"

"You never know, Jena. Maybe it's your vacation!" Li-en exclaimed.

Yeah, vacation, right…

I didn't stay much longer that night, it was getting dark and I had to get home before the sun set or I'd never find my way. So I shoved my fortunes in my pocket, got on my bike and waved to Li-Jun and Mr. Yee as I rode off. I had just made it to the end of the main road and the sun was disappearing fast. There was a long, pact dirt road that eventually leads to my driveway, but there were shorter, faster trails I'd taken hundreds of times before through the woods. They were wide enough for two to three people to walk comfortably together and bike riding friendly. It wasn't like I hadn't done it before, anyway.

And yet, I still should have known better. I'd never taken the trails this late, and even though there was a chance I _could_ get home before dark, I could have probably still followed the road the short distance home. Too bad you never think of these things when it's really important, huh?

So I took the trail, and was going along just fine, no hitch no bump no trump. Donald, that is. Okay, bad joke, but I couldn't think of anything else that rhymed. I was ridding along just fine, anyway. I could hear the leaves crunching beneath the wheels, and the gears of the bike clattering. The wind felt good on my flushed face, and I felt it blow through my still messy ponytail. It didn't matter; I was just going to bed once I got home anyway. I'd fix it in the morning before school, like always. Like always… I got to thinking about my dull, everyday schedule, how the most variation I could look forward to was what crap they were trying to pass off as food today in the cafeteria, and wonder how many times they'd killed it and brought it back to life. And whether it was still living. Or maybe I'd be watching Kim that day, or Ella. But that was it. Dull, boring, my life.

I kept going down the trails. I knew the route by heart and didn't have to think too much about where I was going. It was pretty much down hill from there, anyway. I started thinking then about the six years before that day, how my life never was normal, but at least it worked. I was thinking about that as I coasted down the homestretch, it worked, and it could have been worse. Things could have not settled down for me, they could still be getting worse. Since that day…

I was too lost in my thoughts, I suppose. Because of it, I didn't see the tree branch in my way, only heard the sickening crack and felt my loss of control over the bike. My breath caught in my throat, I saw the tree and threw my hands up. I tried to jump off or at least fall over, but the hem of my jeans was caught in the bike and the way I was leaning would have sent me crashing head first into a sharp rock. All I could do was close my eyes and pray.

I never felt the crash.

* * *

Hazy, blurred images swam in my head. Red and black, vague shapes I couldn't quite make out danced before my closed eyes…

Closed eyes. Open your eyes, stupid! I tried, and let out a growl as I quickly closed them again and shielded them from the sun with my arm.

The sun? When did that get there? I rolled on to my side, well… attempted to anyway. The sharp white pain in my head prevented any further movement or thought for quite some time. When I could even consider moving again, all I did was try to open my eyes, slowly this time. I got them open, and blinked a couple of times. I moved my arm carefully back to my side, and my head didn't argue. I stared up, and looked at the clear blue sky, one or two puffy clouds the only thing disturbing the perfect blue. Well, that's nice. It's a beautiful spring day…

Wait. Spring? How the hell- how long was I out for? When I had waken up in my own bed the previous morning, it had been November 24. Fall, not Spring.

The stupidest things you remember when you're delusional; I was at that moment suddenly back in my AP Lit class on the day after the exam, going through the poetry book we had been studying from, and found a limerick by some Anonymous dude.

_There once was a man named Paul,_

_Who fell in the spring in the fall,_

_T'would have been a sad thing,_

_Had he died in the spring,_

_But he didn't. He died in the fall._

Thank you Anonymous.

I closed my eyes again as I became conscious of the pounding in my head. I was too out of it to have notice the fact that there were no trees around me, or trails, or any sign of my bike for that matter. The one I was sure was as mangled as my head felt. I was also too far gone to have noticed the particular softness of the grass I was laying on, which, I assure you, there had been none of on the trails. So I was therefore to preoccupied with other things (namely the pain in my skull) to even consider that I might be dreaming, in a coma in some hospital somewhere with my grandma and… okay, just my grandma- standing there, waiting for me to wake up, or even, possibly, dead.

This last one did strike me eventually though. Just about the same time I noticed the footsteps, ones I hadn't been aware I was listening to, had stopped.

"Are you alright?" A voice asked. Male, I was pretty sure it was, not unpleasant either. It seemed concerned. Heaven knows why…

_Good question,_ I thought, _Am I okay? Hmm… Would I still be lying here if I was? Did that stupid tree kill me?_ _No, it couldn't be. Ma' hit trees harder than that going 60 without a seatbelt or airbags, and she lived. It took more than a stupid tree to kill you, Mom. Sure, there was brain damage, but you were mostly fine. (Could this be brain damage?) It's in my blood; no damn bike accident could take me out… Could it?_

"Am I dead? Is this heaven?" I said aloud. It was the first time I had spoken, I think, but again I couldn't be sure of anything. I opened my eyes and looked at the face that belonged to the not-unpleasant male voice. "Are you an angel?"

The… I'm gonna' take a wild guess here and call it a boy… blinked at me with big, emerald green eyes and raised eyebrows. He stood with the sun shining off his long, blood-red hair, not unlike a red halo.

"No," He said. "I don't think so."

"Huh," Was my eloquent reply as I continued to stare stupidly. "Could have fooled me." He just stared, wearing an expression I couldn't –or was too out of touch with reality (in more ways than one) to- read.

I forced myself to sit up, suddenly unable to lay there with this guy, who said he wasn't (but could well have been) an angel, staring at me.

I quickly discovered that I am NOT superwoman, no matter how many trees I crash into and don't die from, and am NOT impervious to pain.

"Oww…" I brought my knees up and held my pounding head in my hands, trying and failing to will the pain to go away.

"Are you sure you're alright?" I heard the grass rustle as he knelt beside me, but he did nothing else.

"I said I was in the first place?" I laughed, hard as it was I couldn't help it. "I don't know your definition of the word, but what I was saying back there wouldn't have made me believe I was 'alright'. My head…"

"At least you are talking," He said simply.

Good point.

"Didn't think about that," Don't talk, moron! Pain… Hurt… I buried my head deeper in my hands. "Then again, thinking hurts."

"Hm," was all he said, "If you don't mind my asking, do you remember what happened?"

So he's not an angel, he's a doctor?

I just shook my head, then after a minuet said, "You wouldn't believe me."

I think I saw the hint of a smile, but I wasn't really looking.

"Try me."


	2. Welcome to Earth?

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho, The Sixth Sense, or anything else copyright protected that I may have made vague references to

Welcome to… Earth?

So there I was, Jena Tashi, sitting with my ass in the grass nursing what could have possibly been the worst migraine of all time, yakking and jabbering on about what, I don't remember, with this not-an-angel kneeling next to me, possibly listening to my every confused and incoherent word.

If I had been him, I would be one step away from calling the nice guys in white coats to come take me away to my own nice padded room where I could get my own nice jacket and the help I'm sure I needed. I don't even know what I told him, probably everything. From my job at the post office, where Sam was too stubborn that day to part with half of his turkey and swiss sub sandwich; to the fact that I didn't really like swiss anyway, but I was hungry enough to try; to how I hated our school lunches, and would love forever anyone who fed me theirs from home; to how I hated be a moocher, but it was –really- my only skill (short of stamp licking; which I'm pretty sure I told him, too); to how Li-Jun's grandfather Mr. Yee shared his wonderful family recipe, and how I didn't know whether I'd crashed into that damn tree or not, but I knew I _really_ hated fortune cookies.

I also _knew_ I was talking too much, but I didn't have any control over it.

I had no idea what I was saying, other than it was too much. More information than I could have possibly remembered about my life than I should have been relating to this total stranger, whether he was an angel or not being beside the point.

It was more information than I shared with anyone. Ever. And I do mean _ever_. As far as any one person is concerned, anyway. I guess if everyone who had ever known me throughout my whole life had gotten together and spent a whole day dedicated to nothing but me and who I was, they might have collectively known everything I was telling this guy.

Which is way more than I probably care to recollect myself.

Why was I talking to this guy, anyway? I was delusional, sure; I had a pounding in my head like someone had just hit me with a hammer (not that I know what that feels like, but I know people who do, and I wouldn't recommend it), yes; I was confused and in pain, and I might have been dead, and for all I knew this guy really _was_ an angel even though he didn't "think so"; but I was more careful than that. Always.

I never talked much to anyone, angels or no angels, and especially not strangers. And I never ever, ever in a million life times devoted whole tangents and rants solely to myself. Maybe I could go on about how I felt about someone I really didn't like, and what I would like do to that person if we ever found ourselves alone in a dark alley together, with no witnesses and no one who would miss them if they dropped off the face of the planet anyway, but that was rare. It only happened under moments of extreme (extremely extreme) duress.

I hated people that did that, who could talk about nothing but themselves, and I think I may have damn well told him that too. I also hated hypocrites, which I knew even as I kept on flapping my big mouth that I was now one of them. A walking contradiction, (isn't there a song about that?) assuming I could still walk.

At about the same time I realized what I was doing, how I was talking too much about things I NEVER should have been telling anyone, I started to do another thing I never do, not since I was nine years old, and NOT in front of anyone (again, angel or not.)

I started to cry.

Not sobbing and wailing, but there were definitely tears rolling down my cheeks, ones that wouldn't stop even after I had managed to shut myself up and no matter how tight I shut my eyes.

It was mortifying.

I didn't cry in front of strangers! Gawd, I didn't cry in front of my family, my friends, OR angels. I just _didn't_ cry, period.

Why the guy hadn't said anything, called the people in white coats, or at least told me to stop talking, or start laughing at me, I couldn't say. He just sat there, listening or not, I had stopped caring before I started. He didn't say anything and I had my eyes shut too tightly to see his face.

I regretted it, all of it.

If you had been just a nice guy walking around this… (where the hell was I anyway?) "place", enjoying the sun and the nice spring weather, and all of a sudden you saw this girl, lying in the grass. And somehow, you suspected that something wasn't quite right. So you walk over, okay, being a nice guy and all, and ask if this girl might be okay. Your suspicions of something being wrong are than confirmed when the crazy starts talking about heaven and death, and accuses you of being an angel. Concerned she may be a hazard to her own safety and societies, you ask if she can remember what happened. Already assuming (knowing, more likely) that she is insane, you just smile when she says you won't believe her.

Then the girl goes off about Swiss cheese sandwiches, crashing yet not crashing into trees, and hating fortune cookies, then to top it all off, this _stranger, _whom you're not even sure is from the same _planet _the rest of you are, what does she do? She starts to CRY!

Needless to say, you'd be feeling slightly uncomfortable, no? And maybe you'd stay, regardless of your feelings, to make sure that she didn't hurt herself –or more importantly, anyone else- being the nice guy. Why don't these people run? Don't they have any concern for their own safety? Or maybe they think we're too crazy, even to hurt anyone. I don't know anything anymore, assuming I ever did…

And this is me rambling again. When I had recovered enough to slap myself for what I'd just done, I wished like mad that I could remember what I had said.

But, of course, I couldn't. I just knew it was a lot, too much.

"You must think I'm crazy," I laughed hoarsely as I wiped away the offending tears to look at him. _God knows I do._ "Sorry, about spilling my guts like that. I mean, I don't do that often –ever, actually. If you want to just forget everything, that would be great."

Non-Angel stood up and looked off into the distance. "So you do not know how you ended up here?"

I was on the verge of talking too much again, spilling even more of my personal life, and so I decided to accept the welcome change of subject and limit my answers to simple yes's and no's.

"No," See? Simple.

Silence ensued.

He appeared to be thinking. About what, I'm even going to pretend to know or guess. With him standing again, though, I couldn't seem to remain sitting. I scrambled to get to my feet, and managed somehow, with no damage done. Other than my pride, but that happened back in my ramble. He offered a hand to help me up, but I didn't see that until I was already standing.

I looked around; on my left was the red headed dude who stood a good six inches over me. I've always been a bit sensitive about my height, but I'm a proud 5'1". Most of the people at my school were about my height, and short of my family (pardon the pun) I didn't know many tall people. I'd wanted to be taller as a small child, with my uncle being 6'4", and my aunt about this guy's height; my_ little_ sister, who's four years younger than I, was two inches taller, and I knew my baby cousin Ella was going to be a giant as well, but I've learned to deal with it.

So I wasn't intimidated by his vertical advantage, but I did make the observation.

Anyway, I was looking around. I noticed there was a long stretch of flat land all covered with lush, green grass and a few benches far to the right of where we were standing, with a couple of blooming cherry blossom trees near the… sidewalk.

So we were in a park…

How the hell did I end up in a park?

"How…" I was about to vocalize this question, when I turned my gaze in the direction the redheaded guy was looking. My eyes grew wide, and, gratefully, my mouth wasn't hanging open because I had snapped it closed.

There were before us lines upon lines upon lines of grave stones. Yes, grave stones. I had NOT landed in a park, after all.

I had landed in a freakin' cemetery.

"Oh, joy…" I said, my voice gone soft and dripping with sarcasm.

Now, you see, this did nothing to dispute my theory that I might be dead, and this guy could be an angel. Or another newly dead soul, which would explain why he hadn't run away yet. But I didn't scream, I didn't panic, I didn't do anything. Nope, I just stood there, letting the realization wash over me that I had somehow gone from Fall, November 24th, in the wooded area near my home, to where I landed in Spring, who-knew-what-day, in a burial ground for the dearly departed I could very well be among.

I felt just dandy…

I felt like I was going to be sick...

That last one may be the reason why I fainted.

* * *

Ever since I was nine years old, the sight of a cemetery has made me sick. I'm not afraid of them or anything like that, they just make me physically sick to my stomach. I could look at one in a picture, and be perfectly fine; I could watch a horror movie with a cemetery as the setting, and not even flinch. But put me within five feet of an actual graveyard and watch me empty the contents of my stomach onto the well kept grass.

It's not because I'm psychic, I don't "feel the presence" of spirits or see dead people like that kid in that one movie about "senses". It's a psychological thing my therapist (if I had a therapist) would probably call "post traumatic stress" or some other psychiatric mumbo-jumbo. What happened was this:

When I was nine years old, my mother died. And I'm not trying to be insensitive by not saying "passed away" or "is no longer with us" (which is actually how Evelyn put it when she told us- me and my sister, that is), it's the truth. I wouldn't intentionally damage anyone's fragile psyche, but it is what it is. Anyway, I was nine years old. My sister was five, and we went to the funeral in matching dark blue velvet dresses our grandmother bought us. (I've been to too many funerals in my life, and never once have I worn black. White, when I was a baby for my great grandmother; Dark blue, for my mom; Forest green, for my great grandfather, Pale gray and light blue for my grandmother's many relatives, and blue, pink, and bright yellow for my childhood friend Maria, who wanted a celebration and confetti instead of tears.)

I remember sitting in the third row, the one reserved for "members of the family" with Kim on my left and my grandma's brother –in- law on my right –he and my great aunt got a divorce a year later, and all I remember about him was thinking he reminded me of Kim's dad. I was irked at the young guy giving the eulogy, because he didn't sound like he knew her at all. He was nice enough, and said nice things, but it was so cold and impersonal. I didn't like it.

The casket was closed, and had white and light blue flowers on it; roses and I don't remember what else. Between bursts of tears throughout the day, somewhere along the line I asked my grandmother why it was closed, why I couldn't see her. She said I wouldn't have recognized her. That worried me, but I managed to stay silent. I couldn't have imagined her anyway other than what she had been: my mommy. My grandmother said it would be better that way.

After the guy was done talking, my uncle, great-uncle Ron, one of my grandma's cousins who had a granddaughter my age that I played with, and five other people I didn't know carried my mothers polished wood tomb out to the black hearse waiting out side. I heard one of the guys say he didn't remember Lei being that heavy, a smile on his lips and a tear rolling down his cheek. That was when I first began to feel sick.

I held my grandmother's and Kim's hand as we walked through the grave stones, flat pieces of polished rock, some with shiny metal, engraved with names, dates, and in some cases, flowers, birds, and animals. My mother was buried next to my great-grandmother and someone else from our family. My great grandpa was still alive at that time, but was in the hospital after having a stroke. I heard people saying how sorry they were, whispering behind our backs, expressing remorse and pity for my grandma, Kim, Uncle, and me. My stomach started doing back flips.

When we got to her final resting place, she was already in the ground, her stone with her name and dates and little birds and baby fawn in place over her casket. I looked at the dates and used my fourth grade math to do some quick figuring.

29, she was 29.

I think my stomach was going for a gold medal in gymnastics.

The young guy was talking again, and I stopped listening. I heard something behind me, and I let go of Kim's and Grandma's hands to turn around. There was an old lady walking between a row of stones, wearing rags and limping with a cane. She was wearing a raggedy brown coat and had a lump in her back; her stringy hair covered her face. She hobbled along with her jerky motions, she was carrying a bundle of something in her hands, I moved away from my family in the first row, through to my uncle who was standing behind us and he put his hand on my head. I watched the lady hobble over to a stone in the ground, no bigger and no noticeably different from any of the others. She took out her package, unwrapped a slab of stone in the shape of a bird, and she set it down next to the grave and looked up. She stared at me, with glazed over gray eyes, and smiled, showing her missing front tooth and the rotting others.

I couldn't help it, I puked right there.

I'd never had nightmares, I'd never lost any sleep over it (I've always been an insomniac, I don't know why), and I'd most certainly never _fainted._

Boy, if I hadn't felt like an ass before, when I had been talking too much, I sure would have then. Not only had I spilled my guts (figuratively, this time), talked too much, _cried_, now I'd gone and fainted.

If I'd been that guy, I would have left. Most people I know would have, I would have expected nothing else. I didn't know the first thing about him, even though he (had he been paying attention) would know enough to blackmail me for the rest of my life. I could sum up my situation in one highly articulate, well-expressed word:

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Yeah, you get the point.

So I fully expected to wake up back where I had fainted, on the grass in the cemetery, or possibly, in the woods with my bike wrapped around a tree and me on the rocks I really didn't want to land on, but somehow had only managed to hit my head hard enough to knock me out, "and it had all been a dream". I hated it when books ended that way as a kid, but under recent circumstances, I might not have minded ending this that way.

Too bad it doesn't.

I woke up, _again,_ this time without any pain in my head. I had been dreaming about the cemetery and my mom's funeral and I refused to open my eyes upon regaining consciousness.

There something soft under me, but it wasn't the grass. It felt cushy, like an overstuffed couch. My first thought was that I'd been dumped in some psychiatrist's office, and I listened for the sound of breathing or tapping of a pencil against a clipboard.

I imagined a balding man whose receding hairline had only left him the hair just around (and in) his ears. I could imagine him looking down at his clipboard through small framed glasses, one foot resting on the floor and the other crossed over his knee, with his clipboard in his lap.

The vision bore a remarkable resemblance to my world history teacher.

My eyes flew open at that thought and I shot up with a start. I had to stifle a scream and settled for a gasp. I realized quickly that I wasn't in any psychiatrist office I'd ever heard about or seen on TV, and Mr. Johnsen was nowhere to be found.

Neither was anyone else, for that matter. What I'd woken up to now looked like the waiting room to the doctor's office, but a lot more comfortable and slightly more inviting. Or maybe a guest room that hadn't been used in a while, and was slowly being turned into a place for storage. There was a couch, which I _was_ laying on, and four neutral-colored walls (I don't know how to describe them better than that, they weren't very memorable.) with a single light bulb fixed into the ceiling. I swung my feet to the floor and noticed the only other thing in the room besides the couch, me, and the dust bunnies. A door in the wall opposite to the couch was the only other thing worth noting. Mostly because it seemed like the only way out.

I continued to sit there, staring at the door. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to get up or not. I was suspecting a trick of fate, and so I glared at the door. Was it a dream? Was this whole thing one annoying, extremely unpleasant dream?

I wasn't willing to take any chances. So I sat there, staring at the door, daring it to disappear.

They've done that in my dreams before, disappeared. I'd be in this empty room (much smaller than this one usually) and there would only be one way out. I'd see it and instantly, every time, run toward it. As soon as I'd get there - wouldn't you know it?- my only escape would vanish. I'd stand there pounding on the wall with my fists, but I couldn't scream. Somehow, I knew my voice wouldn't work and it would be wasted effort to try. Ah! But banging on the wall, _that_ was different. Someone could surely hear _that._

I don't know what my strange dreams mean, Li-Jun's the one into subconscious interpretation.

When I was about to give up, and try the door despite the disappearing effect these things tend to have, the handle clicked, like someone had turned it from the other side. I watched it, suddenly seized with the urge to hide behind something. But that didn't make any sense.

Especially since there wasn't anything to hide behind. I was about to lie down again and pretend to be asleep still, but the door opened and in walked…

"A cat," I said in tone of mixed disbelief and this-shouldn't-surprise-me-now.

"Mer-ow," was the reply. The orange and white striped feline sauntered about four feet into the room, and then sat back, swaying its tail and observing me as though debating whether to get closer or not.

I sighed. It's not the strangest thing that could have happened. I'd learned that in the… however long it's been since my bike accident. I slowly moved off the couch to sit cross legged (yes, cross legged, "cris-cross apple-sauce") on the floor. I stretched my hand out to the kitty and purred at it like Li-Jun did to her cats.

"Here, kitty-kitty," I cooed gently. "It's okay. As long as you don't claw my eyes out, we'll get along just fine."

I never understood why people told cats they wouldn't hurt them. Most cats I knew could put you in the hospital if they felt threatened. Guard dog, nothin', my German Sheppard ran if Grandma let our cat in the house.

The cat eyed me for a moment, with the whole you-are-beneath-me attitude that all other fat and happy house cats I knew possessed. This one apparently deemed me worthy though, as it came up and sniffed at my outstretched hand with its cold nose. I didn't move, waiting for it to tell me I had been accepted.

Eventually, the fur ball purred and nudged my hand. Universal cat-talk for "you may pet me now".

I stroked the little thing behind its (I didn't know if "it" was a he or she) ear, and the cat purred louder, sat down and closed his/her eyes.

A chuckle from the door way caused me to look up, but the cat went on purring.

"I guess you've met the pest," A kid stood there, not far from being my age, leaning in the door with a small smirk on his face. He had slicked back, black hair and light brown eyes. He was looking at the cat, and I couldn't be sure if he'd meant the cat or me as "the pest".

Before I could reply or stand up, a second guy came to stand behind the first in the door, looking slightly pissed off he said, "Stuff it, Urameshi. You're just jealous 'cause people like my cat better 'en you."

"You know what Kuwabara-,"the one I could only assume was Urameshi started to reply, but never got to tell the other- Kuwabara- what. He was cut off by a third, more feminine voice.

"Oh, you two," A girl appeared and pushed through them. "Cut it out. You're giving our guest a bad impression with your arguing." She smiled at me, "Hello, dear. Are you feeling better?"

I stopped petting the cat and stood up. The bubbly, smiling girl had long blue hair pulled into a ponytail kind of like mine, only longer, less messy with longer bangs, and… blue. The one called Kuwabara was taller than the other two and had a mop of orange hair on his…head…

That couldn't have been his face. No way. I was proven wrong, though, when –before I had a chance to answer the blue haired girl- Urameshi had pinched his cheek and started to pull.

"Yeah, dimwit," He said with a cocky grin. "You're setting a bad impression, especially with a mug like this."

_So it wasn't a mask?_ I was glad no one could read my mind at that moment. I'd been through enough that… we'll just call it a day.

"Why I otta'…" Kwau-Kuwa-…oh, hell- Ugly immediately retaliated by pinching both of Ur… uh…meshi? Yeah, that was it. Anyway, he took hold of both sides of Urameshi's cheeks and stretched them out to the side. Urameshi then grabbed the other side of Kuwa…bara? Yeah, Kuwabara's face, when the blue haired girl swhacked them both.

"Knock it off!" She commanded, and both boys grumbled and muttered under their breath, but did stop.

"He started it…" Kuwabara whined, but a looked from the girl made Urameshi keep his mouth shut.

And it looked like she'd finished it. I liked her immediately.

She turned back to me and flashed another smile. "Sorry about that, boys will be boys!"

"Then did you have to hit us!" Urameshi griped.

"Yes," and she thwacked him over the head again, her smile gone and replaced with a snarl in an instant.

I didn't know how to respond or even if to respond. So I just stood there, and blinked like an idiot.

"Oh, now look what you've done, Yusuke!" The girl exclaimed upon looking at me again. She ran over and before I knew what was happening, she had me in a suffocating hug. "You've scared the poor darling! It's alright, hon, he may be rude and a bit brash, but he's not so bad."

I choked for breath.

"Botan!" Yusuke, Urameshi, whatever his name was, shouted. I was seeing spots… "You're strangling her!"

"Oops!" She let me go; I almost fell to the floor. She smiled apologetically. "Sorry."

"'s alright," I said, regaining the use of my lungs. "It isn't the first time."

And it wasn't. I had a "cousin" on my grandpa's side that would do the same thing when ever she saw me, which was about one a year when they came up from Mississippi.

She was raised with all older brothers (seven of them. nice guys, but not people I would want to mess with. The youngest is her full brother, three are their mother's –my grandpa's daughter, and sort of my aunt- from a previous marriage, and the other four are my "uncle Ralph's", as he insists I call him.) and I was the only girl family member she had her age. I never quite got good enough at seeing her coming, and as a result, never got the chance to employ my "duck and cover" drills I'd been practicing the week before.

Somehow, she always got me.

"Way to go, Botan," Yusuke laughed. "She's not even here an hour and you're already trying to kill her."

Well, that answered part of the time question, anyway.

"Um…" I'm very articulate, yes, I know. But I really didn't know how else to start. The whole situation was confusing, and my words and my brain failed me. "Where exactly… am I?"

"Welcome to Earth," Yusuke joked, but I didn't take it that way. "Enjoy your stay."

Well, at least I was on the same planet. Hardy, har har.

"Oh! You don't know, do you?" Blue haired- Botan- asked rhetorically. She smiled again. "Well, this is Kuwabara's house. And- Oh, drat. We haven't been properly introduced! Well, my name's Botan. That one with the big mouth and black hair is Yusuke-"

"Hey," he said with a smirk and a nod of the head. He didn't seem to notice, or care, that Botan had just said he had a big mouth.

"And the other one is Kuwabara."

"Nice to meet you, pretty lady," He smiled a big, cheesy grin.

"Hello," I said. I was too confused and lost to have done much else.

"And what's your name, dear?" Botan asked patiently. "Kurama didn't say when he brought you here."

Kurama? Was that the red haired kid?

"Oh, uh…" Dear god, what was my name? I was thinking too many other things, like where was this Kurama person? How much had he told them? Anything? Did these people know how I got here? Why was I here? What were they going to do with me? How was I going to explain this to my grandma when I got home? If I got home? Did they even know I was gone yet? And what the hell was _my NAME!_

Maybe now is as good time as any to explain that I don't exactly live with my parents, though I'm sure you already picked up on that. But while I try to remember my name, I'll go ahead and clarify. Like my sister, I live with family, just not of the mom and pop kind. As I've stated, my mother died when I was young, and my father… kind of doesn't exist. Biologically, I suppose I'd have to have one, but we've never met. Considering my mother's occupation before she died, it really wouldn't be surprising if the guy she told my grandmother it was, wasn't really him.

Yes, my mother was a prostitute. No, none of my friends know and never will. That's not me, it's not who I am or ever will be. I don't want people to judge me by things like that, I only want to be seen as me, not my mother. And I don't want to be pitied. That's the worst. Which is probably why I don't talk about myself a lot, or the way in which my mother died. Let me just say… It wasn't pretty.

Anyway, I live with my grandma and grandpa, grandma on my mom's side and grandpa by marriage. My grandma had my uncle first from her first marriage, my mom with the second, and married my grandpa years before I was born. (My family could've made my dear friend Ann's divorce attorney dad a very rich man.) It's never mattered that we weren't blood relations, my biological grandfather is dead, and has been to my grandma for a long time. And though my Grandpa may be a drunk, a three pack a day smoker, and may have (unintentionally, of course) tried to kill me or put my life in danger once or twice (never when sober), I know for a fact there are worse things. And certainly worse things than teaching your granddaughter (again, by marriage and affection only) to tie her shoe laces and ride a bike.

"Jena," he'd say when he'd introduce me to his friends, "My granddaughter." He never once acknowledged that we weren't related, not in my whole life.

Ah, there's the name.

"Jena," I said. "Jena Tashi."

"Great!" Botan said. "Now that that's settled…"

"Sorry, excuse me, Botan?" I interrupted, as politely as I could.

"Yes, dear?" She waited.

"Where… I mean, I don't know what you were told, but..." I was debating on how much to tell them, trying to guess how much they already had been told.

"Oh, you've got amnesia, right?" Botan guessed. I raised a startled eyebrow. "Well, I don't know all the details, but Kurama said you didn't know how you ended up in the cemetery, he said you couldn't remember?"

So he hadn't told them the tree story… I think I blushed. What would they think of that? Truth or not, amnesia definitely sounded better. I didn't want to tell them, but I couldn't flat out lie either. Sure, I didn't know what had happened between the time I closed my eyes to the point I opened them again in the cemetery, but I had a strong feeling it wasn't because of amnesia.

"Amnesia? No," I shook my head, and almost laughed. "I don't think so. Of all my recent problems, amnesia definitely isn't one of them."

"Hmm…" Botan said thoughtfully. "Well, your situation is new to me. I've never heard of any cases of people suddenly appearing in cemeteries. Unless you were abducted by aliens, but how realistic is that?"

"I don't know," I said. "Not very, but neither is anything else I can think of to explain it."

"Well, why don't we have a nice cup of tea and you can tell us exactly what you remember, okay?" She said cheerfully, steering me toward the door.

"I don't think you'll believe me," I said doubtfully, dragging my feet along the carpet.

Yusuke laughed, "I think you'd be surprised what we'd believe."

I didn't know exactly what to make of that, but I allowed myself to be pushed through the door. _What have I gotten myself into? _


	3. Mood Shift aka prelude to Hiei's arrival

Disclaimer: same as before, and I don't own The Wizard of Oz or Nancy Drew, either.

Mood Shift, Incoming Anger

Just one question, God:

Why? Why me? Why the bloody hell me?

Yes, technically that was three questions, but who flippin' cared?

If this whole thing was some kind of cosmic joke, I wasn't laughing. Not at all. Get to the punch line already, and get to it _now._ Yes, okay, sure, I'll admit I was… kinda' bored with my life, back where my life made sense, but that's the point:

It made sense. As screwy and confusing as it was, it made sense. HA! I thought things were confusing before, but I had no idea. Even with everything in my family, with all those still living or known to me (with the exception of my grandmother) being either related by marriage, adoption, or half-blood relations, none of it was like this. I thought keeping track of who was what to me and trying to remember all of their names was tough. Ha, ha ha, ha.

On the confusion scale, this was off the charts. As my dearly departed mother would have said, this "took the cake and ate it, too". Why does the power behind the universe get to have it both ways? Why does it get to laugh at my misery while, at the same time, it's allowed to believe it was doing me some sort of kindness?

I could see the logic in that, too. Making me fear (and not for the first time) and worry about just how hard I'd hit either that tree, or the ground when I fainted, if you want to say I never hit the damn thing to begin with.

The universe _may_ have (in some twisted, sick, demented way)_ thought_ it was doing me a favor, adding more adventure to my life, making Jena Tashi slightly less boring… if not also slightly less sane. I'd had my mental breakdowns before, but they never happened with something like this. Before, it was safe to break down. Safe to cuss and curse, rant and rave, about nothing in particular but it sure as shit made me feel better. My friends knew I wasn't serious, that more than half the things I'd say would later be forgotten and regretted, and more than likely (on the very rare occasions they occurred) my friends had been there for what had pissed me off and understood that I do NOT get that way over nothing.

And this wasn't "nothing", and there wasn't anyone else around that had been there; hitting/not hitting the tree, "crash" landing in the cemetery, crying and _fainting_ in front of a guy I'd not only never met, but had told my life story to, and –oh, yeah- I still wasn't sure if I was dead or not, and still not entirely convinced the guy with red hair- called Kurama by the blue haired girl Botan- _wasn't_ an angel.

Or my worst nightmare, but I was hoping against that. I hoped he really was an angel, or at the very least a good guy, who wouldn't use my entirely too vocal temporary lapse of judgment against me. I didn't know the first thing about him, or these friends of his, who damn well might be angels or figments of my imagination, too.

I may have been sitting in a kitchen with three other people who appeared to be genuinely willing to help, who were all sipping on the same hot tea I was, who were all staring at me with different colored eyes, awaiting what I would tell them, what I didn't believe for a moment they would understand or be able to help despite their (supposed) best intentions, but I'd never felt more alone in my life.

God, next time you want to do me any more favors: Don't. I'd really appreciate that.

"So what happened?" One of the guys asked, I didn't notice which one. Granted, their voices were a lot different, but I was too far gone in my own thoughts to care.

And I told them, but not _everything_, like I had done to Kurama. I told them the barest, most honest facts as I knew them. I told them about running over a fallen branch because I wasn't paying attention, and about the tree and getting my jeans caught in the gears, and finally, how I'd woken up in the cemetery. I didn't tell them why I'd fainted. I let them think about it for themselves, possibly thinking that I'd stood up too fast and blacked out because of that. I didn't remember, but I felt almost sure I hadn't said anything to Kurama about the cemeteries. It was still my one secret. They didn't need to know everything.

As expected, they didn't know what to make of my story. But as unexpected, they didn't… do anything. They sat there, looking at each other, as if sharing the unspoken knowledge that they didn't know what had happened. But not like they thought I was crazy. I could see it; they didn't think I was crazy at all.

So I asked them, "Are you going to have me committed to the asylum now?"

"No," They all said, seeming surprised I had asked.

"Why not?" I asked. "Not to sound ungrateful, but I think I've lost my mind here. And none of you, forgive me if I'm wrong, seem to share my opinion. So, I have to ask, who are you people?"

They all got quiet and looked at each other again.

I wished they'd stop doing that.

Then they opened their mouths again, and tried to tell me they were armature private detectives, working for this crazy agency called "Underworld" as trainees (kinda' like Nancy Drew), they had just gotten off their last assignment when I'd shown up, and they had taken my case. Oh, and they were sorry they didn't really know what to do. But they might be able to talk to their boss, who Yusuke affectionately referred to as "pacifier breath" before he was hit by Botan.

So I sat in the kitchen, staring down at the hot mug of steaming tea as the fumes invaded my nostrils, helping in some strange way to calm down my shaky nerves, and I read the saying on the cup over and over again. It was simple, yet so accurately described the crap I was being force fed by these new "acquaintances". (yeah, it was tea, not food, so they weren't good acquaintances yet, but they were making an attempt to listen to my far-fetched… oh, hell… my ludicrous story. Even if they were figments of my imagination, they were friendly figments. And who says you can't be acquainted with figments of your imagination?)

What it read was this:

"If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit."

And baffled I was, though I tried not to show it. I wasn't born yesterday, but I attempted to be patient. After all, they could be my very own illusions and therefore their trying to confuse me out of finding the "truth" could have been my own doing. I could've been trying to keep the fact that I had hit the tree and wound up in a hospital from myself. The human mind is a fascinating thing, and this was a most fascinating defense mechanism if I'd ever heard of one.

Yeah, that was it. That had to be what was happening. I wasn't dead, I was dreaming, sort of. The red head –Kurama – was the emergency room doctor whose name I had glimpsed (or made up, seriously, what kind of a name was "Kurama"? Sounded like something you might name a mountain… but I'm weird, so ignore me) right before I'd lost consciousness.

Two things were wrong with this theory, one: I wasn't that creative. I wouldn't have thought these places up no matter how sever my head trauma might have been; and two: how would my grandparents have found me? They didn't know I took those stupid trails home, for one thing, and for another, they were usually asleep when I got home anyway. Unless my grandpa was gone, but he'd have come back too drunk to care where I was unless I'd left a shirt or something on the floor of my room by mistake. Then he would have trashed my room in a rage then passed out on the couch till morning. Either way, I thought it highly improbable they would have found me. Which left me unconscious by the tree again, with my mangled bike. But I was on a roll, by this point. So I went with it.

Anyway, that was my theory. The doctor had been talking to me, asking questions and shining that annoying pen light in my eyes to check for a concussion. I then was in so much pain and felt so sick that I passed out from the pain in my head, hence the cemetery scene where I fainted.

And because I was confused and in a state of great bewilderment and shock, I turned my doctor into a kid my age and thus created my own imaginary world with one person from my "reality" whom I promptly told just about everything to because he was familiar. Which isn't what happened, and I knew that, but I was rolling with my new theory.

I'd then gone and created three others, one guy, a giant, and a girl with blue hair to protect me from the truth and pain of being in a hospital bed, possibly in a coma.

A tree may be a far cry from a tornado, and a soft orange cat is certainly nothing like a little black dog, Washington may be more than a stones throw away from Kansas, but I felt like I'd just landed myself in Oz. Without my little dog, too.

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore… Toto? Toto?"

Anyway, back to the kitchen.

The hot coffee mug was soothing in my jittery hands that I hadn't been aware where shaking. I stared down at the cup of tea as the steam rose up and continued to assault my nasal passages. I read again the saying written on it with curvy, looped lettering:

"If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit."

It really seemed to fit the absurdity of the story my new "friends" were trying to put off on me. It seemed a sever insult to my intelligence.

"Alright, cut the crap," I all but shouted. I was loosing the battle to keep my patience with them fast. I knew my story sounded just as bad, if not worse, but out-of-it as I may have been, I could still tell when these people were lying to me. I had almost thought I'd met some good people in my confused world (made up or not), honest people, truthful people who really believed me and would trust me with their truth; people who wouldn't confuse me with someone who needed to be lied to for their own protection,

Then they went and pulled a stunt like that.

They all three looked at me, Botan stunned, Yusuke with raised eyebrows, and Kuwabara like he'd been struck with a stupid stick.

"Sorry," I said with a sigh. I hadn't wanted to do that to them. "I appreciate that you're trying to help me, really. But I'm not lying, and I… would really be grateful if you would try to… be honest with me, too. I'm sorry, again. But I'm really confused and..."

Oh, great. I was chocking up again. Here come the water works…

"I don't like to be lied to," I lowered my voice to a whisper. I really didn't want to go this far, I was saying too much again, and on a normal day I wouldn't have given two licks if they had lied to me or not. I would have just left and tried to figure out this stupid thing on my own.

I hate being a girl sometimes, we're so emotional.

But I managed not to cry this time, I did.

Barely.

But I'll take what I can get.

They might have planned to say something after that, but no one got the chance.

Just at that moment, something happened –_someone_ happened- to change my perception on reality _again._ Putting me in the current state of pissed-off I come to you in while writing this.


End file.
